


In my blood and bones

by Theawsomecake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels, Self-Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 04:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theawsomecake/pseuds/Theawsomecake
Summary: A look a John after Sherlock death. What was he thinking when he whispered those words full of regret and grief,  "please sherlock, don't be dead"





	In my blood and bones

**Author's Note:**

> Okay please enjoy and hope I haven't ruined your sat to much.

He sat staring at the amber warmth of the rising sun. He couldn’t be bothered to move, to go and function like everything was okay. As if last night he hadn't sat listening to the ghosts of those who had lost and loved, each having left their own cracks on his fragile heart. No, today was one of those day where his past rested heavily on his soul, trapping his spirt as he yearned for some relief. 

These were the days that every scar on his pale ceramic skin ached deep. Taking it in turns to strum on his tight nerves. Sighing, he rose. Body moaning at each movement that it took for him to dress and wash. Turning towards the wooden oak door, the clinks and clanks of people getting ready for the day, invades his ears through an open misty window. 

He threw open the door, jumping when it hit the patterned walls. Shuffling, slowly in to the cold, stale and silent kitchen, flicking the kettle on with a half arsed movement. He sat staring at the Ash coloured sky as fat drops fell heavily to the ground, splintering on the cement. Reaching for the milk he stirred in the sugar to his tan coloured tea. Turning to the fridge, he peered in aimlessly. He decided to forgo breakfast. He needed out of this apartment.

Walking with no destination, he watched a people rushed to work, to appointments, to lives and love ones. His light hair was slicked back from the rain, his shoes sodden down to his socks. Jeans sticking to his leg as he turned to the cemetery. There was a far off rumble of thunder as the rain picked up its speed. 

He walked stiffly through the gravestones. He eyes never left that dirty gravel path. He chucked humourlessly as the sky above let out a groan, even they thought he was pathetic. He stopped senses suddenly overwhelming as his worn out face reflected back on the smooth shiny black surface, elegant, with its golden lettering. He stepped closer, mindful of the flowers and gifts left on the overturned earth. He felt as those cracks in his heart suddenly shattered in to splinters, he could of saved this one, no, he SHOULD of saved this one. He stood as that golden writing blurred as his tears and the rain mixed. 

He sat there sobbing, the gilt drowning him. He was fucking useless couldn’t even live normally with out his best friend, his brother, his lover. His legs gave out and he slumped to the floor, head hanging, shoulder hunched. He sat there as darkness of the winter nights began to envope him, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted. The chill of the damp air and soaked clothes, making his broken body shiver. As he peered up through damp lashed to the golden writing, illuminating the dark marble. He felt his hands shake and his lips tremble, his own body, overwhelmed by the amount grieving one person could take. With the final tears escaping, from tired and irritated eyes. He stood on shaking legs. He stood, face angled at the sky as it was cooled by the slowing drops of the rain. 

Touching the elegant stone, as though he would tarnish its worth, he breathed in, bottom lip trembling as he schooled him self back in to the soldier he played and whispered to that bloody grave... 

 

“For me Sherlock, don’t be dead”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I'm sorry, this turned out much more depressing than what I thought it would be.
> 
> Sorry for the emotional pain.


End file.
